A Flower for an English Gentleman
by culturenerd
Summary: Wilde's "The Picture of Dorian Gray" is the basis of this. Lord Henry and Basil discuss a new arrival in Basil's life; a Love of a sitter.
1. Disclaimer

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters. They belong to the authors, and the publishers and the publishers, and I don't earn money off of their use


	2. The Story

"Lord Henry is here, sir," Parker's familiar voice came from the doorway. It seemed to resonate in the silent room in which Basil Hallward sat, entranced and enthused by a memory.

"Send him in, please, Parker."

As Basil's eyes rolled lazily to the door, Lord Henry waltzed in, looking lavish. His suit was the colour of purple, his peaked hat the same, and he had a green handkerchief as a marvellous touch of décor. Basil thought it was impossible for his friend to not look extravagant, no matter the occasion.

"Hello, my dear friend, how…. Why Basil," he started as he looked at the look upon Basil's face, "what is it? You look as though you've seen a ghost. Or worse. My wife!"

Basil grew slightly irritated by the fact that Henry played his Love for his wife as a wanton, nonexistent thing. Lord Henry Wotton was known throughout society for his nonchalance about things, and his witty quips. Basil knew better, but said nothing.

"Well? Which is it?" Henry asked, reaching to remove his hat. He held it against his chest, and cocked his head waiting for an answer.

"Neither, neither…"

"Oh! You've begun that painting haven't you? That must be why. Too smitten with young lad to think accurately? Ah, what a beauty he must be." Henry glanced around the room. "Where's the painting? I'd like to see it."

"What? Oh, absolutely not," Basil said, slightly unnerved. He racked his mind for a proper reason, and not merely his own preference. "It's not done, and he's not even seen it. Honestly now, it's just common courtesy to show the sitter their painting before other people."

"But Basil, the only way he would know is if you told him, which you wouldn't. You just don't want me to see it. Want to keep an element of mystery to your life, is that it?"

"No. Well, actually, I suppose so. I swear to you that after it's done I will show you."

"Yes? Will you show me him, as well? A nice little introduction? Perhaps a bout to the theatre?" Henry walked closer to Basil and gave him a smile. He was toying with the painter, and he knew. And enjoyed like he didn't know was quite possible.

"Oh, Harry, please. Maybe. If he wants to meet you." Basil felt a stitch in the beating of his heart. Dorian Gray was his, and he wanted to keep it like this. He realised the selfishness of this, but couldn't help it.

Henry walked outside and plucked a lily. He placed it to his nose and inhaled it's odour.

"I suppose he resembles this flower; delicate and fragile in appearance, yet more than that. This flower contains a most gorgeous scent. I'd presume that the boy has a wit...perhaps beauty and intelligence?

"No. Those two don't go well. Wit?"

Basil's eyes followed Henry about the room. "Somewhat. I don't really know. He has an innocent mind. Not stupid, don't think that, but ignorant. He doesn't think of the future…what is to go on in his life, in his beauty, in those around him is unimportant or unintelligible. Perhaps that is why I envy him, and therefore am sent into a condition of Love."

"Ah, so you have found beauty's curse in a first handed manner, then? No, he wouldn't think of the future. Beautiful people shouldn't think of that. To know their beauty will falter, and most likely diminish entirely would be unbearable. I suggest you spare him."

Henry sat down on a chair opposite of Basil and asked if he would call for Parker.

Parker walked in the room, and Henry promptly beckoned him over. "Parker, were you beautiful when you were a lad?"

"I don't consider myself as such, Lord Henry, but I believe that others did."

"Ah, perfect! Did you often think of the effects of age?"

"No, sir."

"And did you lead a happy life?"

"Why, yes, sir."

Henry turned back around to Basil. Basil nodded, understanding Henry's point.

"Thank you, Parker. Oh, and would you bring me a glass of brandy?"

"Of course, sir." Parker took his leave, and Henry leaned forward over the table that separated the two friends.

"Now, I bet when Parker was a young man he was gay at all times! Going about the town; to the theatre, to dinner every night, to the whores or renters (whom of course he wouldn't need, but liked), and having a posh time. Now, think of if he knew his fate. Spending time at home like an old maid, trying to preserve his looks. That's no fun at all, is it? Beauty opens doors, and age closes them."

Parker returned and handed Henry his brandy. "Thank you," he said, and watched as Parker exited the room again.

Henry looked at the brandy and swirled it around the tumbler, before taking a drink.

"Intelligence is permanent, but beauty is not. Yet ask near any young person today which they'd prefer. Beauty comes and goes quicker, but does more things. Have you thought of what giving that painting to the lad will do? Because, in all honesty, it could bring down a sense of fate. That would be dreadful! You surely wouldn't want to spoil your young Love."

Basil looked at Henry as he took another drink and thought on the piece of logic which was placed in the air. He mustn't think on it too much, though, or he'd not finish his painting. "I'll chance it."

"What a brave fellow you are, my friend. He must be a beauty, to wish to preserve him forever in paint than his own short years. What's his appearance?" Henry asked, gulping the last of the brandy.

"A perfect Hyacinthus-"

"So I was correct in the comparison of a flower! (Perhaps not a lily, but a flower nevertheless!) Oh, a more beautiful one as well. Hyacinths capture many hearts. Now you've found yourself enraptured. How cliché! Go on, though."

Henry enjoyed taunting his friend, but really wanted to know the reason of Basil's infatuation.

"Well, as I said a perfect Hyacinthus. Skin the perfect colour of fresh milk, with faint, natural rouge to his cheeks, leaving him in a permanent innocent blush. A perfectly fit nose for his face, and lips hard to discern between the petals of the most beautiful rose. He's a perfect example of beauty…more feminine than that of a young lad, but enrapturing."

Henry absolutely beamed. He was not an easily interested person, but it thrilled him to see Basil so taken with someone that he turned to the art of drama to describe him.

"Basil, with words like that, I think you're fit to take to the stage."

The painter stood up and walked to the door, and placed a hand on the frame. "My Love seems unrequited, though."

"I doubt that very much. Have you never read anything of the Greeks? He holds your attention with beauty. You hold his with intelligence and things you may teach him. He may not shower you with adoration as you do him when he's not there, and surely when he is, but he admires you and respects you. That leads to Love in many aspects."

Basil smiled softly. Henry most certainly was not the one to go to when hurt, but it was a welcomed change to show that he cared.

"I see what you say," Basil said softly, " but I don't want him to Love me in the Greek manner. I don't wish to be his tutor, in case you've not noticed. I want him to Love me with all of his being like I do for him. I just don't know if it will happen."

"You are already more than a tutor to him, surely. Perhaps not in a physical sense, but as you speak of him. I'm sure he Loves you. Absolutely positive."

Henry walked over to Basil and rested his hand upon his friend's shoulder. "If you want to be 'in Love', do so in the modern sense. No thinking or rationality, but hope and desire, and you most certainly have both of those."

Basil's smile widened and he turned around. Henry smiled, as well, and pulled back. "Well," he spoke as he went to grab his hat, "I've to go. Dinner with my wife to see how things are, you see. Goodbye, Basil."

"'Bye Harry. Thank you."

Henry turned around before he left. "Don't think on it. Just don't hope for it again."

He flashed a saucy grin as he turned and left.

Basil stood alone in the doorway, and then went out into his garden. He wandered through to the very back, and found a small patch of hyacinths. He happily plucked one, and strolled back to his study.

He walked across the room to his paint supplies, and sat the flower atop of them. He looked up to the painting, which was propped thin-way between a chest and a wall. He pushed it against the chest and placed his head against the wall to get a better look at it, and sighed.

"Perfection," he softly whispered.


End file.
